


O war! thou son of hell

by Llama1412



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Blood and Gore, Gen, Post-War, War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-15
Updated: 2020-06-15
Packaged: 2021-03-04 05:48:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,794
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24728500
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Llama1412/pseuds/Llama1412
Summary: In the aftermath of war,  Calanthe waits to feel the way everyone said she was supposed to.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 12





	O war! thou son of hell

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from Shakespeare's _Henry IV Part 2._
> 
> For the prompt “It wasn’t the first time she’d tasted blood in her mouth, and she knew it wouldn’t be the last”

Calanthe had prepared before engaging in what would become known as the Battle of Hochebuz. She had done everything right – planned her strategy, stationed her men in tiers to play to their strengths – hell, she’d even held the calvary line herself when it came down to it.

Her plans had paid off. The Nazairi banner retreated further by the moment and Cintra was victorious. _She_ was victorious.

Calanthe took stock of the battlefield around her. The grass had gone soggy with blood, even in the few spots that weren’t occupied by some part of a human body. Some of those bodies likely still lived, and with the war won, now she would have to begin the long process of clean up. 

Calanthe pulled off her gauntlet and helm and swiped her hand across her face. The taste of blood in her mouth was familiar, but she was used to it being her own. In the height of battle, literally keeping her front line from crumbling, Calanthe couldn’t even be sure of that. She turned her head to spit and saw the tooth she hadn’t even realized she’d lost fall to the ground. 

Was it wrong that she felt like laughing? But even with the cost, Calanthe had more than shown that she was a Queen to be reckoned with and that knowledge thrilled her. She had fought and she had won. And now there was blood in her mouth and adrenaline coursing her veins and her muscles were tense and ready – but there was no enemy to fight. The Nazairi military had retreated and all that were left were those too injured to flee and that was hardly a good fight.

She wanted a _real_ fight, something she could sink her teeth into and tear apart. 

But the war was over. Her people needed her to take charge in the aftermath: to oversee the sorting of bodies and check in with the medical tents and begin drafting the ransom demand to return Nazair’s men to them. If she truly wanted to be Queen, she had to lead not just in battle, but in the filthy reality that came after. 

When her father had first taught her of war, he’d told her that the worst part of it was living. When she’d drawn back in confusion, he’d explained that if you died in battle, you died a hero. But if you lived, you had to actually continue on – and that meant figuring out where her kingdom stood now and pulling order out of the chaos of battle.

Calanthe forced her jaw to open and began barking out orders. The men in earshot lept into motion at her voice – and if it was a little too high, a little bit tremulous, no one dared comment. As her men checked who was alive and who was dead and which side they were on, Calanthe strode towards the medical tents. Her face was stretched into a feral grin and she couldn’t seem to make it change even though people flinched away when they saw it. 

Her boots squelched as she walked and the stench of blood and shit and mud was overwhelming. And still, Calanthe felt on the verge of hysterical laughter. Where was the horror, the disgust, the agony over the realities of war? Wasn’t that what everyone talked about? Whenever the knights talked about their first kills – after they were drunk and somber and honest – they talked about throwing up and passing out and pissing themselves and just generally losing control of themselves in face of the true horror of war.

As she bullied the medical tents into order and ensured they had enough supplies, Calanthe kept waiting to feel like that. Oh, she felt out of control – her grin was bloody and broken, but she couldn’t make her mouth move and her fists still shook even though clenched tight enough to turn white. But she didn’t really feel anything about the war itself, except for wanting _more,_ wanting another target to slash at, another enemy to thrash.

“Your Majesty,” a young squire approached her, sweat and blood dotting his forehead. “Forgive me for being presumptuous; I know there are many demands on your time. But I wondered if, perhaps – that is, if you have energy to burn, wouldyoubeupforaspar?”

Calanthe blinked. “What?”

He shifted awkwardly and cleared his throat. “Would you be up for a spar?”

She tilted her head, looking him over. His heraldry was of a minor Cintran noble family, and if he’d been serving as squire to any of her knights, then he damn well knew how inappropriate it was for him to approach her so casually.

Calanthe liked that. And the suggestion of a spar – energy was still coursing through her veins, making it difficult to stay still for any period of time. A spar would settle both her body and her bloodlust.

“What’s your name?” 

“Danek, Your Majesty,” he bowed his head to her. 

“All right, Danek. Let’s spar.” 

He returned her feral smile and followed her when she rose and left her command tent to find somewhere appropriate for a spar. Appropriate, and perhaps _private._ While this squire seemed to know that she needed to fight, others would likely be less understanding, and the last thing she needed were rumors tainting her victory.

Calanthe led the squire past the medical tents set up and away from the battlefield. She brought them to a rocky hill and drew her sword. She should have asked Danek if he was sure about this. These swords weren’t blunted and their armor was not in the best state after the battle. If she failed to pull a hit too soon, he could easily lose a limb.

She couldn’t force the words out, and Danek didn’t seem to be waiting for them. He drew his own sword and took a guarded stance with his sword held low. Then he waited for her to make the first move.

Calanthe was delighted to oblige him, blood already pumping with the fever of battle as their swords clashed. Danek was actually quite skilled, but his experience was lacking. Which wasn’t unexpected – starting at ten years old, squires were the youngest actual combatants on the field, and they were expected to survive four years of that to become a knight. Calanthe, who had been knighted by her father at her fourteenth birthday, had at least a couple of years of experience on Danek. He was probably close to becoming a knight himself, but sometimes, that extra bit of experience made all the difference.

Fighting was natural for Calanthe. She had drilled hard as early as her father would let her hold a blade, and each motion required no thought at all. Danek was fast, but his inexperience meant he left openings and wasn’t thinking about his overall tactic. His next slash left his right side open and Calanthe stopped her blade a hair’s breadth from his armor.

“I yield,” he dropped his sword away from her with a giddy laugh. “Wow, you’re – you’re incredible, Your Majesty. I thought I almost had you a few times, but – wow.”

Calanthe’s face finally felt like it would respond to her commands, but she kept her feral grin nonetheless. “You did pretty good. When are you due to be knighted?”

“At the end of the year.”

“Hmm,” she looked over him assessingly. There was an inkling of an idea growing in her mind. If her men had been better trained, she wouldn’t have lost so many. But the ranks of knights were too numerous – every nobleman’s child was expected to become a knight. They were groomed for it from the age of eight as pages, before graduating to squires at ten years old. Their actual training depended on their parents – who, presumably, had survived long enough to have children, but who may or may not have been skilled themselves.

But Calanthe had the power to change that. “What if knighting were based on valor and skill, rather than a coming of age expectation?”

“Are you asking me?” Danek asked, eyes wide. 

She hadn’t been, actually, but now she was curious what he might say.

“Well, um –” Danek darted a look at her face and she hoped this wasn’t the moment he learned deference. He licked his lips and straightened. “I think that’s a good idea, Your Majesty. But what happens to the nobles who never become skilled enough to be knighted?”

Calanthe tapped her fingers against her sword. “There’s no real point in having all nobles serve. Untrained soldiers are as much a threat to their own side as their opponents. It would be better if we could manage training for all knights to ensure they’re up to standards.” She looked Danek over. “How would you like to help me figure out this system as my Knight Commander?”

He blinked at her, face slack. “What?” his voice came out as a squeak.

“I’m making you the test,” Calanthe decided. “Kneel.”

He dropped to his knees without question, even though he continued to look gobsmacked. She raised her sword and placed it on his right shoulder, “As your Queen, I grant you this commendation,” she raised the sword over his head and placed it on his left shoulder, “which will symbolize your duty and bond as liegemen in fealty to the crown of Cintra.” She stepped back, pointing her sword down and resting her palms against the pommel. “Rise, Knight Danek.”

He slowly pulled himself to his feet. “But – why?”

Calanthe clapped him on the back and began leading them back to the command tent. “Because you knew what I needed and you took care of it.” She shrugged, “I need men I can rely on.”

“I will always strive to be so, Your Majesty.” Danek bowed his head to her with a grin tugging at his lips. “And thank you. I’m squire to my older brother and he’s an absolute blowhard.”

Calanthe chuckled. “Well, keep it up and soon he could report to you.”

She rolled her neck and reveled in the way her muscles were finally releasing their tension, the way her pulse was slowing and instead of the frenetic energy of before, lethargy settled over her. _This_ was the proper way to respond to the aftermath of war. 

She would have to remember for next time. A spar afterwards with someone who could keep their mouth shut, and she could be the Queen her people needed her to be. 

In the meantime, Calanthe would explore this new knight structure and she would see how Danek shaped up as a knight. She expected to have many more victories in the years to come, and she was determined that the losses would be fewer.

**Author's Note:**

> The actual timeline for page -> squire -> knight was a little older in Medieval Europe, but the age of majority in Cintra appears to be 14, so I adjusted it. Also, her knights are not just men - Cintra taught men AND women to fight.


End file.
